


Renaissance Man

by ImyourCardiganAngel



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Crossdressing, Lance is determined to prove to Keith he's a good actor, M/M, Pidge uses he/him pronouns in public, esp when women weren't allowed to act yet, i mean they're actors so of course there's crossdressing, i try to be period acurate, set during the 1600s, so expect some sexism, the Blades make appearances, they run a theater!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 06:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20372380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImyourCardiganAngel/pseuds/ImyourCardiganAngel
Summary: It's the seventeenth century, and Les Cinq Lions Theater is a rapidly growing theater outside the town limits of London. Follow the group of actors who keep the people coming back for more show after show, and learn of the hardships they each face in this demanding society. Through it all, their bonds are strengthened and their lives are changed, for better or for worse? That's yet to be seen.





	Renaissance Man

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I haven't been able to write much, but this has been sitting in my drafts for quite some time until I decided to post it on a whim at 2am. I was inspired by a Theater History class I had to take last year, and I admit, this was a lot of fun to write, so much so I had to share it! I'm not sure if it will develop into anything more, so for now it's a one shot. It's not perfect (no beta and I'm tired, so I'll edit it tomorrow :) ), but I hope you enjoy!

His mother always told him he had a special passion, one he should not hide or be ashamed of, even if others deemed said passion as not worthy enough and thus making him lesser of a person because of it. His mother also always told him to chase his dreams, and so he had. Which is why he was currently standing at the center of a stage, arms spread wide and voice ringing clear throughout the room, though the dress and wig and makeup are a surprise, but nothing he can’t pull off. Lance McClain was the best Cleopatra in town, and hundreds of patrons come to watch him perform each night, and tonight is no different--whether they knew he was a man dressed as a woman for the sake art was none of his concern. 

“ _ As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle--O Antony-- Nay! I will take thee too! _ ” Lance projected his voice, its clear sound something the reviews often praised. His eyes scanned the crowd and he internally smiled at the enraptured expressions on the faces of the audience, all eyes locked on him alone. 

He throws himself forward, stumbling as if he really was overcome by the asp’s poison, and a few members of the audience at the foot of the stage reach out to steady him should he fall.

“ _ What should I stay-- _ ” Lance gasped as he fell to his knees, then he collapsed, faking his death for the fourth time this week. 

Usually they would move on to a new play after a day or two, but Shakespeare’s  _ Antony and Cleopatra  _ continued to consistently rake in the gold, so Coran decided to keep it on a couple more nights, tonight being the last night. One might expect Lance to be tired of performing the same thing four nights in a row, but this was his passion and the audience was different each night, and since they dictated the flow of the play, in Lance’s eyes he put on a different play each night. 

Some audiences may be more receptive than others, leading Lance to not over-act as much, the emotions flowing more freely. Those were the best nights, however, Lance was never one to shy from a challenge, glad to put his acting skills to the test when an audience proved disinterested, their personal conversations more interesting than the stage. Lance made it his goal to always be the center of attention, as it  _ was  _ his job, and he always succeeded at it, leaving everyone in awe.

Except for one.

He came to every show, Lance quickly noticed, and always stood in the shadows on the back wall, leaning disinterestedly. His face never changed from the bored expression on his face, though his eyes were always fixed on Lance. It was as confusing as it was infuriating. Why wasn’t he reacting to any of Lance’s performances? Perhaps the more important question was why did Lance himself care so much?

Theatre wasn’t for everyone, and there were far more who denounced it than sing its praises. Lance had considered that this guy belonged to that group, however, why continue to return night after night if he detested theatre completely? It didn’t add up, so Lance had quickly tossed that assumption away--Pidge would be proud he was using ‘ _ that below average brain of yours for once _ .’ 

He also considered that this man could be interested in him physically, which isn’t unusual. Plenty of people were, and those who found he--or rather, Cleopatra--wasn’t their taste had an assortment of options among the women lingering among the crowd looking for work, but that was exactly why he dismissed this theory as well. He never looked twice at the women, his eyes remaining on Lance the entire time, peering through a dark curtain of bangs. He could have a very specific interest, that interest being Lance, but it has very nearly been a month and he has yet to approach Lance personally. He only ever stares. And as the velour curtain closed on  _ Antony and Cleopatra _ for the last time, Lance stared back, hoping to see some form of an answer on the man’s face, but as always, he remained passive, still as stone.

With the velour curtain closed, Lance tugged the itchy wig off his head and wrapped an arm around Matt, who had played Antony tonight, as they retreated backstage. He winced when he tried to take a deep breath, a hand reaching behind him to fumble for the strings to the corset he wore before he remembered that it was underneath his dress this time, hidden since Cleopatra never wore a corset, though Lance still needed one for her physique. 

“I’m glad there’s only one leading lady this time; not sure how you can wear those things so often,” Matt chuckled knowingly.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if your sister wasn’t the devil incarnate,” Lance replied, now plucking carefully at the fabric of his dress in an attempt to pinch the lacing. 

“What did you do this time?”

“Nothing! I don’t know why she laced me up so tight, I’ve been an angel all week!” Lance cried, finally giving up on his attempt to untie the corset, instead focusing on picking up his skirts so he wouldn’t face-plant on the stairs--something he hasn’t done since the first time he was recruited to play a woman when he was a young boy.

“Lance, the closest you’ll come to being an angel is when you’re dressed up as one.”

Lance turned from his place at the top of the stairs, holding himself regally as he summoned Queen Cleopatra while glaring down at Matt, his golden skirts still clutched in his hands. 

“I’ll have you know, just the other day, there was an elderly woman on the street and I threw her a rose from my performance that day. She chased me off with swipes from her broom, but the appreciation was still apparent.”

“Wow, why haven’t you been made a saint, yet?” Matt snorted, and Lance grinned. 

“I know right. Guess I’ll just have to stick to acting as one.”

“It is what you do best.”

Lance winked and turned to continue into their dressing room, which was shared between everyone in the company, with Matt close behind. Coran was already out of his costume and currently taking off his makeup while conversing with Allura, probably discussing what the next play should be. Romelle sat quietly in the corner, focused on the sewing she was doing on a Shylock costume. Maybe they would be doing  _ The Merchant of Venice _ next? But who he didn’t see, was the one person he currently needed.

“Pidge!” He yelled, startling everyone in the room. Still, the little urchin didn’t appear.

“Pidge is out, but she should be back any moment now,” Coran responded, not looking up from the papers spread before him and Allura. 

“That’s what they always say,” Lance grumbled. “She just wants to torture me.”

“Ah, corset too tight?” Coran offered an apologetic smile. “But, even if she was here, she couldn’t help you. You need to stay as Queen Cleopatra just a bit longer to see your patrons off. They paid double tonight since I told them it may be the last time you dress as her for quite a while.”

Lance sighed, glancing at the wig in his hand. He knew who his patrons would be, they had paid to see him backstage every night so far and while it brought good money to the theater and himself, it was hard to stay in character. Most of the time they got too handsy, and Lance would have to remind them of where they were--a theatre, not a brothel, though most people didn’t really consider the difference between the two. At least  _ Le Lion Theatre _ was still respectable in the sense that the health and safety of its actors were always a priority. That’s why they had guards posted, to break up any riots or fights that sometimes broke out when people became too passionate about the play they were watching. 

Once Lance readjusted the wig on his head and touched up his makeup, he approached Shiro, the guard that watched over the backstage and who escorted him to all of his meetings with the patrons, making sure they didn’t try anything too adventurous. Lance was grateful for the support and the company. Shiro always complimented Lance with a kind smile; the man was the only saint Lance would ever consider praying to, despite wanting to do many sinful things with the man. 

“How do I look?” Lance asked Shiro, doing a graceful twirl as he approached. 

“Like what the patrons ordered,” Shiro joked and Lance slapped him playfully. Shiro knew that to handle Lance you had to have a sense of humor, and Lance appreciated it.

“Right. Let’s just get this over with so my spine can re-adjust itself sooner.” 

As soon as Lance stepped outside the door, he was in character, hands held out delicately by his sides as he walked, lips puckered and lashes fluttering, and steps short and light. He was glad Allura coached him in how a lady should present herself, or else he wouldn’t be as successful as he was. He remembers when he had first been recruited, the idea of acting a woman’s role sounding easy until Allura had drilled him on it. 

His first attempt had him stumbling on his heavy skirts and falling into her arms, something he would have taken advantage of if he had not been scared out of his mind at her expression. Allura was a tough coach in the sense that she knew what she wanted to present and if you didn’t match it, she would make you practice until you did, but she was by no means cruel. That was something Lance admired about her, especially when being a single lady nowadays, let alone a single lady in  _ theatre _ , was difficult enough with people objectifying you, determining your worth by who had your hand in marriage.

Shiro gently cleared his throat and Lance glanced up to see they had arrived to the designated room, and with a final (painful) breath, Lance entered with his head held high. He was immediately surrounded, hands on his arms, caressing him far less gently than the words being said to him. He raised his arms and the men quieted; Lance had to stop himself from smirking, this feeling of power over these old, rich men was something Lance would never tire of. On the streets they would denounce him for being involved in such antics--rats and vagabonds as they liked to call people like him while they spit at their feet--yet here in the now they dote on him with less savory actions in mind. 

The designated time passed more orderly after that, and Lance was just going through the motions at this point. He had to look interested despite Mr. Chelseye’s drab monologue about his skills as an accountant, or Mr. Seger’s embarrassing attempts at ‘wooing’ Lance by repeating some of Antony’s lines to him; however, Lance never had to decline a proposal until tonight, so that was a first--it was a hard pass on Mr. Harbird and his big nose. 

Finally, Shiro stepped forward and escorted them out, thankfully strong enough to block Mr. Harbrid from running back into the room, the ring held in his outstretched hand as a final plea. Lance sighed in the quiet of the room, his ears still ringing from the men’s booming voices fighting for his attention just a minute ago. Until only one voice echoed.

“Why do you do it?”

Lance turned to find Shiro at the door once more, face looking more serious as usual after Lance’s encounters with his patrons. Lance cracked a smile, though he knew it fell it short, which he blamed on his exhaustion. He stood and began retreating back to the makeup room, knowing Shiro would follow.

“Who wouldn’t want to con old, rich men out of their money? The power I have over them, the way they’re wrapped around my finger, is pure bliss.” Lance’s words were accompanied with dramatic hand motions. 

Shiro grunted, but remained silent, though Lance could guess what was in his thoughts.

“I can handle a few harmless gropes to feel like I’m at the top of society for a couple minutes. It’s the closest I’ll ever be anyways, so why not take advantage of it.” Lance shrugged, eyes zeroing in on Pidge the minute he stepped over the threshold of the makeup room. 

Previous conversation forgotten, he threw himself at her, begging she loosen his corset lest it snap his spine in half. She went on to explain how that’s impossible, but lifted the dress and started working at the strings anyway. As soon as the garment was loose, Lance tore it off, sighing dramatically in relief, then grimacing at the sweat that had collected beneath it, holding his arms away from himself in disgust. 

Pidge tugged his dress completely off, leaving him in only his undergarments, but no one batted an eye. They have all seen more of each other than they would like, so the sight was nothing new. Lance sighed as the cool air washed over his heated skin, and sank onto his chair at his personal desk--a hastily put together piece of furniture (if it could be called that)--which was a mess of makeups and letters from his family as well as notes left from respectable fans--not doting, love-sick men twice his age--and who spoke nice words about his performances and how much he moved them no matter the role. Things like those were why he performed; he kept them near to remind him when things got difficult, as they often did. 

A jingling quickly captured everyone’s attention, all turning to watch the man entering the room with their earnings for the night, that man being Kolivan, who was the head of security and has been with the company longer than Lance. His look alone deterred any funny-business amongst the patrons, the scar over his eye only enhancing the glare he always seemed to wear. Maybe his face was stuck like that after so many years? But no matter, because he did his job well and honorably. 

Kolivan greeted everyone then tossed the satchel over to Coran, who quickly began divvying it up between everyone. Lance got ten coins, more than he usually got, though still not a lot. One gets used to such pay and learns to stretch it. At the very least, it would keep a roof over his head and food in his stomach.

However, Kolivan remained in the doorway, clearing his throat to let them know he had something else to say. The room immediately quieted; Kolivan was a man of few words, but when he spoke everyone listened. 

“It has been brought to my attention by our own Takashi Shirogane that we have need for another set of hands in security after Rolo’s departure due to the birth of his son.” It remained silent. “And Shiro has someone in mind to fill this position.” Kolivan stepped aside to reveal Shiro behind him, his hands gripping a smaller boy’s shoulders.

The world faded away as Lance’s gaze focused on the boy standing before him, closer than he has ever been before, no longer concealed by shadows. Lance could now see he was slightly shorter than Lance, and had a lean build, though he held himself confidently. His pale skin was unblemished, looking like porcelain, and his dark hair hung at his shoulders, a familiar pair of eyes of a curious color peered at them through dark bangs. He had his arms crossed, back pressed against Shiro’s front, and it was obvious to Lance that he wasn’t a fan of attention. That’s probably one of the reasons he remained at the back of the theatre.

“Keith has been living with me for about a month now, so I suggested he help out around the theatre,” Shiro finished, patting Keith’s chest with a hand proudly. 

“You!” Lance said, mouth moving before his brain. “Do I bore you or something?” That’s not exactly what he had wanted to start things, but he couldn’t retract it now, so he played on his skills, those skills being his ability to monologue.

“Many papers continually praise my skill, and I have more fans than any other, yet you still remain unentertained after every performance this month!” Lance stomped a foot, hands flailing dramatically with his words. “No one has ever left our performances unentertained, and this will not stand! I will entertain you by the time our next show run is over, and that’s a promise.” Lance punctuated the sentence by pointing at Keith, who’s arms remained crossed and only a single eyebrow out of place.

“Uh, who are you?”

_ The audacity _ . Lance’s senses all fade out then sharpen with such clarity it leaves him unsteady, so he uses that momentum to take a step forward. Before he can get any further, however, Pidge places a placating hand on his arm, patting him sympathetically and just a bit mockingly.

“Don’t mind Lance, he’s been playing Cleopatra for far too long and now thinks he’s a literal queen,” Pidge stepped forward, offering Keith a hand. “I’m Pidge. My birth name is Katie, but a woman can only get so far in this world, so I’ve decided to play into the role of men when amongst the peasants, and by peasants I mean everyone not in this room right now. I couldn’t care less what these losers think.” 

“Love you too, Pidge!” 

Everyone else introduces themselves, Keith nodding along seriously, like he’s going to actually remember everyone’s names and positions in this company. Then Coran ends the night by announcing the next play he and Allura have decided on, which is in fact  _ The Merchant of Venice _ . The roles and play practice would begin at sunrise, then their first performance the day after that, Coran informed them all too cheerily. 

Lance sighed at the weariness that settled in his bones as he began to dress, pulling his faded blue tunic over his head and brown, cotton pants that had more than a few patch-jobs. An actor’s life was as weary as it was exciting. One never had time to stop and think about life outside of the stage, but maybe that was for the best. Life wasn't so great outside of the stage.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed please let me know! I love hearing from you guys, as all writers do! It's the key to our hearts :)


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